


In control

by theworstfanficever



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Hannibal Rising (2007), Piquant! A Vampire’s Guide to Pansexual Porn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexual Male Character, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV First Person, POV Hannibal Lecter, POV Male Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Power Play, Therapy, cannibal, how do i put it?, it just felt right, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworstfanficever/pseuds/theworstfanficever
Summary: A vampire finds himself a cannibal therapist. What could possibly go wrong? A powerplay begins. Piquant! x Hannibal crossover.





	In control

It usually took me less than twenty seconds to get to know a person. And I mean, really know them, their desires and fears, to analyze and dissect them so that I can find ways to control them.

But there was something odd about this boy, sitting opposite me with his legs crossed. There was this first layer, what he showed and wanted me to believe. He was well groomed, flirty and slightly gayish. His attire had this hipster quality of both effortlessness and felicitousness about it.

“What brings you here?”

It was our first session. I always schedule first sessions in the evening, because if I don't like my client, I can easily dispose of them.

He smiled. His teeth were white and small, seemed sharp. I wondered if he would bit me if we struggled.

“My roommate suggested I come for therapy,” the young man said.

“And why is that, Milo?” I asked. This is the name he had given me, but I doubted it was real. There was an air of unrealness to him.

He licked his lower lip and shrugged.

“I'm a sex addict,” he said.

It seemed true, but also effortless, even remorseless. He knew exactly who he was and he accepted it to the fullest.

“You seem satisfied with your life,” I noticed.

“I love fucking, Doctor Lecter,” he said and leaned forward. “And I love being fucked. I'm not going to feel sorry about it just because humans decided to restrict some basic needs.”

He said it as if he didn't consider himself human. It somehow resonated with something deep within me.

“Does your sex life influence your life?” I asked.

“It does. But it isn't a negative influence.”

“And what are your sexual habits? Do you masturbate or participate in sexual acts with other people?”

“Both,” he replied and shrugged again. “I masturbate one or two times a day. More if I don't have sex on that day.”

“And how much sex do you have?”

“Usually two or three times a day.”

“With the same partner?”

He smiled as if I was offering something. It's been a long time since I faced someone who was truly capable of being in control when I'm around.

“Multiple partners,” he replied. “Sometimes many partners at the same time.”

“Are you attracted to men or women?”

“Anyone, really.” He stood up, his eyes fixed on be. Even though at first it seemed like he wanted to approach me, he walked past my armchair and towards the fireplace. Only then did he look away.

He stopped by the fireplace, staring at the fire. The smell in the room was lively and at this moment I realized I could barely smell him. I could smell burning wood and the coffee my secretary had offered him, but I couldn't smell his skin or his clothes.

That was the main reason I stood up and followed him. I stopped two steps behind him and although he stood with his back to me, I noticed he lifted his head a little and smiled.

I couldn't smell anything. Maybe he just took a shower, I thought, but then I would be able to smell his soap or shampoo. Maybe he used the same products I did and that was the problem.

He twitched and looked away as if he tried to remember something. He breathed in and I realized he barely took a breath so far.

“What do I smell like?”

As if the question itself wasn't surprising enough, he didn't ask it in English. At first, I was stunned and didn't know what to say. Reduced to a mute creature trying to comprehend what's going on, I slowly understood his words. It'd been years since I last heard someone speaking Lithuanian and even though his accent didn't seem native, it was very close to a native one.

“What was that?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

“You understood me perfectly,” he replied and turned around. He extended his arm and gently touched my shoulder with his index finger. I allowed him to do that.

Maybe he's a good linguist, I thought. Maybe there were still hints of my origin in my pronunciation and he recognized them. Or maybe he came from the same region--his pronunciation didn't seem native either, maybe he himself was Lithuanian or Latvian.

“You speak Lithuanian,” I stated the obvious.

“So do you,” he replied. “But there is some pain underneath it, isn't there?”

I'm rarely surprised, but whenever I am, I am also interested.

“Why would you say that?” I asked. I would never ask “How did you know?”, because I wouldn't want to confirm what he had said.

“I see things sometimes,” he answered. That was anticlimactic. Delusions seemed too... plain. “I sense things.”

At least he had been correct, delusions notwithstanding, and that made me curious.

“What do you want?” I asked. He must have had a reason to use the information he had on me. I wondered if there was more, something he wasn't telling me.

“Honesty, I just want to bite you,” he answered.

I almost laughed, the situation sure seemed ironic. Him, asking me to allow him to bite me. This time it was me who smiled. I couldn't stop myself and that smile rested on my lips when I took off one of the golden cuffs I wore and rolled up my sleeve.

He leaned and I felt his teeth against my skin. Was it a sexual thing for him, I wondered. But he held my arm gently, he wouldn't reach down to my crotch or his own.

It took me a moment to realize his teeth had pierced through my skin and he was in fact drinking my blood. Interesting.

He licked the wound clean and later his lips, as he straightened up. When he looked me in the eyes again, his lips seemed pinkish.

“You taste weird,” he said and touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “There is something weird about your blood and I'm not sure what it is.”

“How long have you had those...” I was looking for the right word, but couldn't find it, “...cannibalistic tendencies?”

The moment I said it I realized I should have said 'vampiristic', that was the word I had been looking for.

“Oh that's it,” he murmured. “This is why you taste so weird. Because you eat other humans. How peculiar.”

He said it as if it meant nothing at all.

“You must admit, it sounds as if you were casting your own delusion on me,” I answered and looked down on the wound as I pulled down and buttoned my sleeve. “This is your doing and you call me a cannibal.”

The wound did not hurt. For a second I wondered if it is possible that I was experiencing hallucination and he wasn't really there. After a few seconds I deemed it unlikely.

“I would never, honey,” he replied. “Regardless, it's not cannibalism for me, because we're of different species. And I would never feed on another vampire. We're dead and chewy.”

Interesting. I wondered whether he really believed he was a vampire or if he was playing some game with me.

“What do you want?” he asked and leaned his head.

For a moment, I entertained the idea of coming up with a normal answer, a plain answer, a clever one.

“I want to eat you,” I replied instead and telling the truth for once felt good. “I want to have you for dinner.”

I made him smile again.

“I'm already dead, you'd be eating a piece of thousand-year-old meat. Unless you meant something else.”

I took a step back, slipped my hand into my pocket and retreated toward my desk. He turned to face the mantelpiece again, and I took the opportunity to grab one of the sharpening knives from my desk and slipping then into my pocket.

I wondered if I should do it here or take him home. I had my pantry and my fridge at home, besides, it was much easier to clean blood there.

“It's time to leave,” I said and he glanced at me.

“For me or for us?”

“For us, if you what it,” I replied and saw him smile.

He was a sex addict, I rationalized as I closed the office and took him to my car. Tricking him using his sexuality seemed easy and promising.

He sat in the passenger seat and we drove through the night. It was dark, the streets were empty and the air felt cold. Milo kept his distance, he didn't reach towards my hand or lap, although I expected him to.

“How do you like it?” he asked, his voice surprisingly warm. “What would you like to do to me?”

I wanted to consume him. I wanted to eat those soft cheeks of his and taste his heart. I wanted to slice his heart, grill it and serve with a persillade or flavored butter like a steak.

“I can't let you eat my flesh,” he said even though I didn't have a chance to say anything. “I'm not sure about my meat, but my blood has the ability to transform you. And I honestly wouldn't want someone like you to be an immortal vampire. There are enough psychopaths among us.”

Maybe it wasn't a delusion, maybe it was a fetish? And he was really engaged in it.

“Why do you think I'm a psychopath?” I asked.

“You eat others of your kind, that's certainly not healthy.”

“You think I eat human meat because your vampire sense told you so?” I asked and looked at him.

He smiled.

“Vampire sense or not, I see things.”

“And what did you see?”

He hesitated for a moment and looked away.

“Pain and war,” he replied and I narrowed my eyes. “Someone you deeply care about killed, her remains fed to you.”

I kept driving.

“You can't possibly think you can analyze me,” I said calmly.

“I wouldn't dare,” he replied. “What I'm trying to say is, I've seen many deaths and many wars in my time. And I saw what they can do to people. I saw people who survived the camps just to kill themselves a few years later.”

“In your visions?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“With my own eyes.”

Interesting, interesting person.

We drove in silence. Soon, I slowed down and the gate opened. One light above the entrance to my home turned on as I stopped the car. Even though I killed the engine, none of us opened the doors.

I leaned toward him and grabbed his neck, my thumb and index finger resting on his jaw. When I opened my mouth, I saw him smile. All I wanted right now was to bite off those pink lips. They were soft and I started wondering how old he was. He could have been nineteen or twenty-five, but his eyes seemed older.

I hesitated, remembering what he'd told me. What if vampirism was a metaphor for some disease? I wouldn't want to get infected with anything, it would be much safer to wait and eat him cooked.

I leaned deeper and kissed his spread lips. It was a dry, composed kiss.

“Are you attracted to men?” I asked and he chuckled in reply.

“You're asking me now?” His eyebrow went up. “Isn't it a little late to ask for confirmation?”

“You never told me,” I noticed.

“Yeah, I'm attracted to men,” he replied. “Most of them anyway. I'm attracted to most adult people. What about you?”

“Gender has no meaning for me,” I replied. “I understand its role in the society, but don't find it relevant in sexual context. Sex is after all, only a need one has to fulfill.”

I left the car and we walked to the main door. I could barely hear him walking behind me, he was so silent.

When I opened the door and was busy with turning off the alarm, he disappeared from sight. When I turned on the lights, I found him by my shelves with records. He picked one, put it on my record player I soon heard the first notes of Chopin's Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15.

It somehow matched him. He walked over to me with a lioness' grace, his body as fit as a ballet dancer's. I felt the sudden urge to see him naked.

He approached me, his neck bent gently, when he lifted his head to kiss me. His hands kept away from me, so the only place where our bodies met was lips.

I reached to his waist and my hand rested on his back. It bent gently as well, making me think of a bird, a swan maybe.

“Do you still want to kill me?” he whispered, his lips close to mine.

Now I wanted to touch those gently curved lines of his body, the shape of his muscles under his skin, tense but somehow slim and making him seem vulnerable.

“I want to take you to my bedroom,” I replied.

“And what would you like to do to me there?” he asked.

“Do you find talking about sex arousing?”

He bit his lower lip.

“Talking, reading, thinking” he said. “But I prefer just doing it. What do you prefer? What would you do to me in that bedroom? Do you want me to mount you? Or do you prefer to be at the bottom? Do you want me to suck you off?”

I disliked his use of foul language, but I found it stimulating. Instead of replying, I pulled him closer and took him in my arms. I carried him to my bedroom.

We could still hear the music through the walls.

I put him on the bed and leaned over him again. When I kissed him, he put his hands on my cheeks.

He slipped off his clothes with ease that hinted they were just made for that. I stood up and slowly undressed. I hanged my own clothes and folded his. Naked, I sat on the bed, between his legs. They were surprisingly athletic and his skin turned out to be very smooth when I leaned to kiss his inner thighs.

“If you bite something off, I'll do the same to you,” he said when I moved up, toward his loins. “Mine will grow back, yours won’t.”

“Because you’re an immortal vampire,” I said, completely serious. Whether he believed it or it was his fetish, I wasn’t going to break that spell now.

I kissed the tip of his white penis, already erected. His skin was so soft and smooth it made me think of milk.

Then I lay on top of him, between his legs. I reached to the nightstand. There was no way I was doing it without protection with a sex addict. He slipped his hands between his legs, helped me put a condom on my penis and spread lubricant both between his legs and between mine.

When I penetrated him, he felt so cold I started wondering if my attraction to him was pathological. He got slightly warmer as I thrust. I did it slowly.

“Yes,” he whispered and his hands pressed to my back. I kept moving. “Fuck me.”

Somehow, I felt offended he had said that. I should have expected that language, but somehow I didn’t.

Chopin’s Prelude kept playing, persistent like an oppressive dream, like a nightmare. I kept thrusting.

I grabbed his hair and kissed him right before I made him turn around. He held to the bed head’s railing and pushed his right leg up, forcing him to spread wider. He reached back and is fingers clasped on my thigh.

I heard the Prelude finish and the end of record sound begin. None of us would be bothered to go and flip the record over. A few seconds later, I stopped caring, because I heard Milo’s whines.

“It’s my turn,” he whispered and turned around to kiss me.

I haven’t come yet, none of us did. But I retreated and turned around. He took out a condom, slipped it on his penis as I waited on all fours. I was panting, but he didn’t even break a sweat.

This time it was him who penetrated me. And it felt very good, slippery, and, when it started hitting my prostate, very good. Heat rushed to my cheeks as if I were drinking wine. He kept moving, thrusting, and even though he did it persistently, it somehow felt gentle. I felt him inside me, his penis getting warmer, I felt his balls hitting my skin.

He stopped and leaned just as I was sure I’m going to achieve an orgasm.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice strangely cold.

The retreated and I felt surprisingly empty now, as if he had left an open wound. He lay down on the bed and I glanced down just in time to see his head slide between my legs.

He ripped my condom off and put my penis into his mouth. It felt cold, so I shivered, but it was also extremely nice. I reached down and touched his hair. I grabbed them as I thrust, fucking his throat. I entertained the idea of choking and killing him now. What a beautiful sight he would make.

I wondered if he’d bite me. He didn’t and I came deep inside his throat. Perfect.

He pulled away and we both lay on the bed. I stood up to turn the record off and when I came back to bed, Milo slid closer and rested his head on my chest.

And then, lying there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling and gently rubbing his shoulder, I realized the truth.

He was here to investigate and hunt me.

I smiled a little as I fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

The original works this fic is based on are 'Hannibal', the TV series currently available on Netflix (I guess), and '[Piquant! A Vampire’s Guide to Pansexual Porn](https://www.amazon.com/Piquant-Vampires-Guide-Pansexual-Porn-ebook/dp/B07DX5JB5R/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)', which is available on Kindle. If you don’t know those yet, be sure to check them out!


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